I have always been conflicted about my enjoyment of spanking. What does it mean to fantasize about hitting another person? What does it mean to want to cause pain?
And yet, with you now bent over my lap, I can’t deny my desire to spank you. It starts with the very sight of you: the sight of your pale bottom positioned at the center of my lap, the way it’s elevated slightly higher than any other part of your body; the small of your back and your breasts hanging limply beneath you, pressed slightly against the couch cushion; the way your dark hair spills over and hides your frightened face; the way I can run my fingers along your delicate inner thighs and you tremble when I do.
I assume you can feel my erection pressing against your hip through my jeans. We had agreed this would be disciplinary only, but neither of us are under the illusion that this is a platonic encounter.